She filled the mop bucket, ignoring his order to leave it and get the book, and began to mop the floor so hard he thought she’d pull up the tiles.
“Do you have a plan for figuring this out, or don’t you?”
She did not lift her head from her work or answer him, just continued swabbing the floor with vigorous strokes until she had covered every inch at least three times.
“I’m talking to you, slave.”
She ignored him, picking up the bucket and mop and moving to his bathroom, where she flung open the cabinet under the sink and began to pull out cleaning supplies.
“What is your plan, Faye?” he asked, raising his voice so she could hear him over her frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. “You don’t have one, do you? You don’t have a clue how to turn my feet back.”
The lights dimmed.
“You screwed up, and you can’t fix it.”
Drops of rain began to fall inside, and the potted ficus tree beside the couch wilted before his eyes.
He raked his fingers through his hair, realizing he’d been too harsh. Standing, he flapped to the bathroom where Fayewas scrubbing the bathtub, her reddened bottom peeking out from under the pink skirt, the clear view of her pussy making him grow hard. He heard a sniff.
“Okay, enough cleaning,” he said gently. “Come here, Faye.”
She stopped scrubbing but did not turn around or move from her position over the tub. Clearly she had no idea how delicious she looked from his point of view or she would not endanger her innocence that way.
“Come here, baby.” He managed to squeeze into the small bathroom with his giant flippers to pluck her off her knees and roll her into his arms. “Don’t cry. We’ll figure it out, together, all right? Come here, sweetheart.”
He walked back to the living room and settled on the couch with her nestled in his arms, soaking his shirt with her tears. He stroked her back, tucking her head against his chest. When she stopped crying, he asked, “What about other fairies? You mentioned talking to someone else about it.”
“I don’t actually know any other fairies.”
“But you said?—”
“I lied. I’m sorry… please-don’t-spank-me?” she begged in a tiny voice, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes.
It would be impossible to refuse her anything when she pulled those puppy dog eyes. “I won’t spank you,” he conceded. “Thank you for your honesty now. But what about your parents?”
“My mom died when I was ten, before I came into my powers, so she didn’t have a chance to teach me to use them.”
“Ah. And your dad is human.”
“Yes.”
“When did you come into your powers?”
“At puberty.”
“So you have just been trying to figure things out on your own ever since? How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. Yeah. I do actually have a book—it was my mom’s journal. It’s not a ‘how-to’ or anything, but it gives me ideas about how she used her magick.”
“Where is the journal?”
“I brought it with me.”
“It’s the book you didn’t want me to see?”
“Yeah. Because it’s personal.”
“I get it. Okay, little fairy. How about if I bring you the journal and you do some bedtime reading here on the couch before you fall asleep? Maybe something will come to you.”
